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Seaside Inspired Poem, Untitled

The fisherman’s wife waits at the edge
of the fluctuating sea
with one baby in her arms and another in her big belly,
enacting a habit of her ancestors.
As he sculls closer
it is impossible to tell if he has his work’s reward –
octopus is elusive this season since the red tide –
but perhaps he struck some other maritime gold
His catch is their present fortune,
Whether bountiful or barren.
They are unsmiling, expecting nothing, merely being,
like a little family of gods found together.

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